Page 86 of The Darkest Oath

“But I saw Gabin . . . He—he twisted the blade. I heard you . . . in—in pain,” she said, grabbing his coat to examine it more closely. “I saw the blade in your belly after I untied you.” Her fingers smoothed the spot where the baker’s knife had protruded.

“I am fine, Élise,” he said softly, but there was a tension in his voice as if he were choosing his words carefully. “A little sore in the neck, perhaps, but nothing that won’t pass.” He smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I am alive, and that is what matters.” He cradled her cheek. The look of love again lived in his gaze. “You don’t need to fear or worry or cry. Not for me.”

She blinked in disbelief, her hands trembling as they traced the unbroken skin of his chest. It was warm beneath her palm, solid, real—but unmarred. No wounds. Only the scars from a long time past. She pressed harder, searching for anything her eyes might have missed, but there was nothing. She remembered the blade plunging into him, the resistance as it pierced his flesh, the sticky warmth of his blood on her fingers, and his groans of pain. Had she imagined the entire night?

No—she couldn’t have. She had seen it, felt it, heard it. It had all been real. And yet, there he was, whole and untouched, standing before her. She didn’t trust her eyes. Her heart raced, fear and wonder twisting into a knot in her chest.

“Impossible,” she whispered.

“It was dark, Élise,” he whispered. “See, I am fine.” A soft, polite smile came over his lips. He took her hand in his and opened his mouth to speak.

“How?” she asked, her jaw agape in wonder.

“Did Gabin find this place?” he asked at the same time. “Do I need to find you another home?”

She broke through her trance. “I’m sorry,” she stammered, her voice cracking under the weight of her shame. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she clung to his hand.

“I didn’t want to go back to Gabin. But Madame Marie—she sent her child to fetch him. I didn’t know, Rollant. I didn’t know.” Her chest heaved as the words tumbled out, each heavier than the last. “He dragged me back. He said I was his. He beat me—humiliated me. He started a riot just to show me that I belonged to him. And I?—”

Her voice cracked, and her sobs overtook her. “I didn’t know how to stop him. I didn’t know what to do.”

Rollant closed the distance between them. She closed her eyes, thinking surely his backhand would come after the night she’d put him through, but instead, he cradled her face. “There is nothing to apologize for,” he whispered. His hand curled around her fingers on her chest.

Her brow furrowed, and her gaze dropped to the ground. “Regardless, I still stabbed you. I didn’t die with you. Then I ran.”

“Élise. If you hadn’t stabbed me, they would have made me watch you die a painful death before killing me as well.” Rollant lifted her chin. “I’d rather die alone than be made to witness such a thing. It was just lucky Gabin didn’t make sure I was dead in his haste to punish us.”

He had watched Amée and Cateline die, she remembered. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She nestled into his chest, but his arms stayed by his side. How could he hold her? Twice, she’d almost been the cause of his death.

Though his thumb smoothed over hers on his chest, and his cheek lay atop her head, silence lingered for a long time.

“It’s been a long night, month, for both of us,” he finally said.

She glanced up, and he tilted his head to the bedroom. “I have men’s blood on me, and I’d like to wash it off.”

She nodded. “I’ll be out here,” she said.

* * *

He returneda little while later in clean, damp clothes, holding his blood-soaked coat, while she was trying to replay the evening in her mind, given Rollant’s recent additions.

“I can’t do much about this,” he said with a half-chuckle and left his coat next to the hearth to dry. He walked up and sank to her feet with a basin of lukewarm water and a cloth. He dipped the cloth, gently wiped her face, and patted a few blood spots from her neck. The heat from the water soothed her chilled skin and pulled her from her thoughts.

“I saw . . .” Her voice trailed off.

He smiled. “But I’m here. You’re here. We are fine. Please promise me, you’ll stay in Charonne, though,” he said as he dabbed away Gabin’s dried blood on her left hand. When he reached for her right, she pulled it back in hesitation. She stared at her fingers and thumb. The red outline-turned-black stained them.

“I felt your blood, Rollant,” she said with a knitted brow. “I felt its warmth. I felt it on my fingers.”

He shifted. “It was . . . a very scary time,” he stammered. His gaze averted. He moved to the sofa, sitting close to her, placing the basin to balance on their thighs. He threaded his fingers in between hers and washed the blood from them.

She watched the water turn muddy brown as he cleaned the blood from her fingers. It didn’t make sense. It was his blood. Whose else would it have been? But his belly, his chest, perfect. Not even a bruise. Bruises. He had been beaten. She had seen them, but then they were gone. She looked him full in the face.

“Where are your bruises?” she asked while touching the tender spot on her cheek from Gabin’s hit, knowing at least part of the night was certain.

His lip twitched. “I’ll answer all your questions tomorrow,” he said. “But for now, sleep is your best remedy.”

He helped her into the bedroom and pointed to the shirt he’d left for her on the bed. He left a basin of clean water and another cloth for her on the dresser.

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